


Indulging in Her Canvas

by MirDance



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, no beta we die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirDance/pseuds/MirDance
Summary: Today she indulged him with painting her body.It had been her idea, something to spark against his blank slate of colorless ideas. As the painting of life became less blurry by the day, his need to satisfy an itch grew alongside.In which Jihyun Kim paints the body of his partner.
Relationships: V | Kim Jihyun/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Indulging in Her Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't beta read this, but if you find any mistakes, just shoot me a DM on discord: Kaydence#7777. I'll be sure to put your name in the credits. <3

Today she indulged him with painting her body.

It had been her idea, something to spark against his blank slate of colorless ideas. As the painting of life became less blurry by the day, his need to satisfy an itch grew alongside. Photographing a lone, stray dandelion breaking way through the snowy concrete hadn't been enough. Painting the empty park playground and the red swings hadn't been enough. More, more, more. Canvases and photographs grew in piles by the day, strewn about the sunroom, discarded and never relieving his aching fingers.

She'd brought the article to him on a particularly grey afternoon as he sat at his desk rummaging through the photos on his camera, the click of the button the only echo throughout the room. A way to make edible paint. She'd always been more creative than he in terms of thinking outside the box. Just outside the box that he longed to reach for and grasp between his hands. At first, he had chucked at the idea, thinking it a bit childish, but a cute way for her to get them to undress. Maybe he had been engrossed in his work; maybe he had denied her the intimacy she craved.

With the scene set up as it was now, though, it seemed she had many other ideas in mind. Perhaps even for an artist, he had always been simplistic in nature. She'd probably tell him that was one of his charms; _Your art reaches the mind in terms others can easily understand._ Perhaps that had been why his photograph had reached Rika. As the years went by, he could finally allow her name to whisk by the front of his mind without much consequence. For now, he would push the thought to the side for another time so he could focus on what stood before him.

White sheets draped across the sunroom with the blaring glow of the grey sky radiating through them. At one point, this would have caused him an ocular migraine, but today it was like floating on a star. Everything was visible and crisp. She stood naked to the side, gathering a few items she needed, but before he could even drink in her blank canvas, his eyes soaked in the colors of paint as she lifted the clear, plastic bowls between her fingers and set them on a lone table. He wanted nothing more than to dip his fingers into the colors and violate her form.

She wiped her hands on a wet rag. "Well?" She turned toward him and leaned her bottom against the edge of the desk. "I figured we'd paint the designs first and give it a few minutes to dry before the shoot. My plan was for me to paint you as well, but," she laughed and relaxed the palm of her hands against the table. "If you don't want to do a couple's shoot, that's fine. I don't mind being the subject."

Of course she always had a plan. His muse was never without structure; she was always quick and ready to start outlining his artistic endeavors. Yet she helped him to ease into things as he wished. He loved and admired her for both her familiarity with the organized as well as her compassionate resolve to help herself understand him. And he wanted to give her that same compassion.

He walked forward until he reached her form and leaned in to place his lips on her forehead and his hands on her waist. "Let's try painting you first." He needed to test the waters, in more ways than one.

Her lips curled upward as she leaned into his kiss. "Of course." She dragged the hair tie from around her wrist and pulled her hair into a tall bun. It had been getting longer since she last cut it in a spur of the moment decision. Her hair was one thing she never planned. Maybe it allowed her to lose control in at least one aspect of her life.

He reached forward and tousled her hair. He knew she hated it, but he couldn't help but tease her every now and again. "The scene looks wonderful."

She blew her bangs out of her eyes and pulled her bun out to redo. "I told you to stop doing that. You keep messing up my hair."

He chuckled and dragged the paint bowl across the table towards himself. "Says the girl who planned for herself to be covered in paint."

"That's different and you know it," she stated flatly as she rolled her eyes. 

Indeed it was different. A planned mess. Still, he couldn't help but enjoy the small reactions he managed to muster out of her. Much to her disdain. He'd work on it. Eventually.

His eyes glazed over as he analyzed the colors at his disposal. Five different colors. Enough there that he could mix new colors if needed, and there were even paper plates nearby with brushes to the side. Blue was her color and would pop out the most. Perhaps he should try for an intricate design? He wouldn't want her looking like a grandmother's rug, though.

"Are the cogwheels turning inside your head," she asked as she scooted to the side and allowed him better vantage to view the tools. "Most men would be jumping at the opportunity to see their naked lady drenched in paint,” she teased.

“All in due time." He dipped his pointer finger in the purple as her gaze stayed on his movements. Was she his muse or he hers? He couldn't say, but he enjoyed that aspect of their relationship. Yes, there was the part of him that could hardly wait to see her drenched in his paint. Yet he wanted to take his time and appreciate all the effort she took into setting up the scene as well as take his time figuring out the sort of scene he should paint on her. 

He slid a plate over to himself and poured the purple paint into it with white a few droplets of white to follow. He could already picture her body as an empty plot of soil ready to plant the seeds of his creation. He just needed to decide the type of seed to plant, but his fingers seemed to already move on their own. He began mixing the paint with his finger to create a lilac color. He brought his finger to his mouth and licked the paint off. “Tastes like marshmallows.”

“That’s because it is.” She went round the table and grabbed the folding chair to set in front. She straddled the seat with her legs wide and palms placed on the flat space in front of her. “Don’t eat it all, though. I’m too lazy to make more today.”

He chuckled and reached to push back a stray hair falling around her cheek. “I appreciate what you’ve done. I’d be loathe to make you do more.”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse. I have to sit here and let you paint me for God knows how long.” She smirked and stretched her legs out. “So, how do you want me?”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her back and forth in her seat. Where should he start? The back had a larger area, but it would be uncomfortable to start with. He grazed his fingers across her collar bone and to her shoulders before turning to the table and dipping his finger in the green. “Lean back and relax. We will start with the torso.” 

She leaned back until her shoulder blades rested against the back of the chair. “Flowers? Lilacs?”

He smiled and gently placed his forefinger just below the right of her collarbone. “You know me so well.” He dragged the paint across the bone and to the beginning of her shoulder before stopping and doing the same thing to the other side. “But you did not guess the flower correctly. Would you like to guess again?”

“Hm.” She shifted slightly as he removed his hand to dip for more paint. “Aster?” 

“We have a winner.” He continued painting vines and leaves across her chest and shoulders, winging some of them up her neck and sharp jawline. “I thought its wisdom suited you.”

She snorted in embarrassment. “Do you know the story of the aster?”

He shook his head as he lightly, dipped a finger in yellow, and grazed her nipple. It hardened under his finger. “I do not. I’m more familiar with the symbolism of flowers rather than the historical significance, I’m afraid.” He continued round her modest breast after going for purple. Her breasts were something she always complained about, but he enjoyed how perky they were. 

Her gaze glazed over whenever she took a moment to gather herself and her story. It was something admirable about her. While many would burst forth into story, she would calculate her audience and the words she needed to make sure the story came across, even for the smallest of stories. Most wouldn’t be patient with her sort of deliberateness, but that very thing was what endeared him to her. 

“Once there was an impecunious blacksmith with eleven children. The eldest daughter, Sskbujaengi, was a mugwort picker for her family. As she was picking one day on the mountain, she found a wounded deer. After helping the deer recover, the deer promised to repay her compassion. On her way back down the mountain, she found a man caught in a boar trap. She helped him escape the trap and spent a bit of time conversing with him and getting to know him. After she realized her fondness for him, the man explained that he would return that autumn. Unfortunately, Sskbujaengi waited for years, but the man never returned. 

Sskbujaengi became busy with her ill mother during those years. The daughter prayed to the mountain god, and one day, a deer appeared. The deer gave her a purple pocket with three marbles in it and gave her a command. ‘Place the marbles in your mouth and proclaim your wishes around them.’ The girl did so and wished for her mother to become well again. Her mother was healed as a result. Sskbujaengi also wished for the man to return once more. He did so, but he divulged that he was married. Still, the man asked her to live with him. Sskbujaengi couldn’t bring herself to do so and wished for the man to return home. As the years passed, she never forgot the man and remained unmarried. One day while focused on picking herbs, she tripped and fell. The fall killed her. Edible plants grew around the place of her death. The petals were purple like the pocket the deer god had given her. The inside was yellow like the marbles. They grew from her place of fall and to the surrounding mountains and beyond where we see them today.”

By the time she was finished with her story, Jihyun had painted a decent amount of flower on the left breast. The petals perfectly wrapped around the swell, and the nipple raised into a delicate yellow pistil with its ridges creating the perfect texture. His fingers itched to grab the camera already, but the piece was not near finished. He continued the same pattern for the right breast, making sure to linger his forefinger over the nipple to achieve the same perkiness. 

She would deny it, but the breathing from her nose became labored as he removed his finger to dip it in water. She was a good model. Still as a statue and muscular. What sort of ways could he touch her to achieve a greater reaction? If any at all? Could she remain as a statue the further he explored? Or would she simply become used to his touch overtime? If her body could react in similar fashion as her nipples, raised and wanting, then the photos would turn out spectacular. 

Of course, he mustn’t forget her comfort and pleasure as well.

She cleared her throat but remained still. “The story. What did you think?”

He worked around the breast with purple. “Sorry, I was a little distracted. It was…sad. From her longing for the health of her mother to the betrayal of her love. And it all ended so abruptly. But maybe that is the art of it all. That sometimes humans end in unextraordinary ways.” He dipped his finger once again in paint and returned to the side of her breast, where he trailed vine down the side of her waist and around her hip bone. 

She chuckled so softly he could feel the vibration through her stomach. “Oh, you think tripping and falling is an unextraordinary way to die?” 

He laughed along with her and drew a line over her navel, stopping to caress it just a moment. She’d always found that area ticklish, but she remained unmoved save for a twitch of her belly. “Well, compared to meeting a deer that grants wishes, I’d say so.”  
“I think I’d like to die in an unextraordinary way,” she mused. “Maybe reading a good book or cuddling with my favorite person.”

“I hope that favorite person is me,” he replied teasingly. 

She rolled her eyes. “Maxwell, obviously.”

“Of course. I could never beat Maxwell, so I will defer to him.” All of his best friends were cat lovers, so he’d gotten used to lighthearted comments such as that. “Mm, lift your leg a little. Here, on mine. Just like that.” 

She lifted her leg so that her thigh was placed atop of his. This way, he was able to continue the trail below her hips and intertwining through the thigh area. “I think I’d be all right with dying as long as I were with you.” He redipped his fingers. “Hm, I see you shaved. That will make an aesthetic spot for a bush.”   
“You’re talking about death while pointing to my vulva,” she scoffed with a slight grin. “I love you.”

He grinned and leaned down to plant a kiss on the recently shaven area. “It’s appropriate, right? Life and death. There’s a metaphor somewhere in there.” As he dragged his fingers around her groin, he leaned his cheek on her thigh and gazed up to see her reactions. He wanted to taste her, but he also wanted to finish the project first. She’d probably scold him for not finishing, too. She had always been his number one supporter. Still, he’d dance with the devil a little. As he started on the leaves, he slowly and deliberately pressed each one deep into her skin, making sure to linger over her inward sensitive spots just beneath the skin. They said the clit was like a horseshoe just beneath the surface, and he liked to imagine riding the upper portion with his fingers as he created the delicate stems. The paint was non-toxic, but he was careful not to get any anywhere it shouldn’t go. Her thighs twitched as he followed to the point of her mound. 

“You’re enjoying that a little too much, aren’t you,” she breathed.

He placed a soft kiss on her inner thigh. “Perhaps. As long as I can get my painting done, there’s no harm. Are you not enjoying it?”

She gazed down at him through drooping lids and sighed heavily. “Continue.”

His love had always been a bit of a hard-ass, but that was her charm. Seeing her done and undone both brought him immense pleasure. He left her mound and trailed his wet fingers down her thigh. His breath also became labored; he could feel it bouncing back from her thigh to his cheek. 

“Don’t mess up,” she teased under her breath. 

“I’m a professional,” he retorted. 

He did need to focus, though; he couldn’t leave hand or fingerprint splotches on her with the look he was going for. By the end, he wanted her to look like the goddess of the forest, emerging from the mountainside after a long slumber. But his pants were already tight just from her smell; he took a deep breath and continued down her legs. He could tell that she missed the contact with her sensitive spots by the way her breath jolted; he’d make sure to make it up to her. 

She was silent as he decorated her ankles in petals. He was on his knees now, and it really did feel like he was doing some ritual for his deity. He kissed her ankle and nipped at the skin until a small bruise formed. She winced, and laid her head back against the chair, but otherwise said nothing.

“I thought it would make a pretty petal if I did it right,” he commented. “I’m not so sure, though. I’ll have to test it a few more times.” 

And so he did. He nipped in various places on her skin, from her ankles to her calves to her thighs, creating various colors of blue and red hues that he painted over in light purple. He had never been much of a biter, but he could get used to this, seeing her lips part in ecstasy and her eyes tightly shut. She’d always been the one to claw and leave marks on his back, but he loved it. She gripped the side of the chair, and he knew more than anything she wanted to clutch the sides of his head and bring him to where she wanted. She couldn’t mess up the paint, though. He had her bound by something invisible yet visible, and it was beautiful. 

He carefully nipped at her labia and pulled it gently between his teeth, causing her to buck towards his face. He quickly moved back a bit as to not mess anything. “And you’re the one who was getting onto me to not mess things up,” he laughed.

“Mhm,” she mumbled. “You’re such a tease today.”

“Maybe I like being a tease sometimes. It’s nice to take the reins and see you like this every once and awhile. You’re beautiful to see unravel.” He returned to her mound and breathed heavily, testing the waters by tracing the tip of his tongue up her lips and stopping at her clit. She grunted as her head lolled to the side. God, he wanted to capture that look forever in his mind. He was able to create this, to do this. He pressed his tongue further into her folds, meeting the small bump that came to rise and greet him. He sluggishly circled it with just the tip of his tongue and his hot breath. Her muscles danced beneath his chin, and her throat sang small whines. The paint had to dry in places, anyway; he had time to make her wet in others. His spine shivered.

She cried out and thrust forward; he groaned and pressed his tongue harder against her. Still, she didn’t make a mess, only using the parts untouched by his paint. Part of him wanted her to make the mess, to become even more undone, but the other had worked hard and didn’t want to see it splotched. Whatever outcome came, he’d probably enjoy it.

Faster. When her moans sung staccato, she wanted it faster. He used his lips to suction around her and flick her relentlessly. Her whines became more erratic like her unwanted thrusts. He did his best to hold her down with just his face on her mound. All he could smell was marshmallow and her fluids. With the latter, he made sure to catch every drop. He lifted up to breathe, and she bit her lip with an unsatisfied moan.

“Hell,” she commented. 

“Sorry,” he chuckled. His face was soaked, but he couldn’t wipe it off, not yet. He continued his assault, using the same techniques as before, but trying to use a little more pressure to create that friction she craved. Her thighs began twitching wildly as she panted. Her legs would stop just before the sides of his head in need of capturing him before settling back to their proper place. She was close. 

He glanced upward to see her curly hair sticking to her glistening sweaty cheeks. “You’re…so stunning,” he murmured into her.   
“I…what…I couldn’t hear you,” she panted. “But please, right there, please,”

“Mmm,” he moaned and stopped his circles to capture the left side of her clit in an upward stroke. “Hm?”

“You jer…I’m going to cum soon.”

He bit her labia gently once more and circled her again, this time with what she craved. She thrust upward to meet him, sliding all over his lips, chasing the release. During normal circumstances, his head would have been squashed to oblivion, and the thought of seeing her so frustrated made him unbelievably curious. She was getting too wild, though, so he slammed his face and tongue between her folds to hold her against the chair. 

“Ah, ah,”

Doing so must have tipped her over; her legs involuntarily quivered around him, and her hips followed. He kept pressed against her as she rode out her orgasm using his face. The tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin was soaked. He groaned into the wetness as his own hips bucked the air. When she was finished, she slowed her pace and collapsed back into the chair. 

He wiped his mouth against his shoulder. No paint was blurred. He was a bit surprised, but that was just one of her many talents. If he could grab his camera across the room without messing up this moment, he would. A camera, no matter what, always changed the atmosphere, so he burned the image in his mind. Her figure was splayed, exhausted, beat, and colorful. Cheeks red like the tip of her nose, freckles ablaze. The edges of her hair frizzed, and her makeup ever so slightly blurred around her eyes. Breathtaking.

“Darling, are you going to go get the camera or continue to stare at your work,” she asked, breathing heavily.

He shook his head and licked his lips. “No. I don’t think we’re done with this piece yet. We should paint you from the inside out until we are both satisfied with our work, don’t you think?” He usually wasn’t so bold, but the entire act empowered him and sent a buzz of energy to his brain.

She nodded her head and smiled, so radiant. His muse, his goddess, his partner, his inspiration. How could he have ever found such a person except for an act of a god? A miracle? He stood and loosened the belt that started to indent his stomach. He’d worship and praise her all night if possible, thanking her for being his miracle, thanking her for being his canvas for the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Snail Crossing for helping me fix errors <3


End file.
